


Reluctant Heroes

by monsterslut13



Series: Into the breach [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M, Pre-Relationship, Rivaldir Lavellan, flustered inquisitor, the inquisitor adopts a cat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2018-07-18
Packaged: 2019-06-12 07:24:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15334812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monsterslut13/pseuds/monsterslut13
Summary: Post Haven. The Herald of Andraste is injured, the Inquisition scattered with no where to call home, but all Rivaldir Lavellan can think about is Dorian and his stupidly handsome face. Whilst the Inner Circle work towards rebuilding the Inquisition, the Herald decides to adopt a cat and try to figure out what to do with the wicked Tevintan mage who had utterly bewitched him. Pre-relationship and discussion of feelings.





	Reluctant Heroes

**Author's Note:**

> What's not to love about the Inquisitor and Dorian?
> 
> \---
> 
> I have no beta, all mistakes are my own

_It was like a nightmare and it's pain for me_

_Because nobody wants to die too fast_

_Remember the day of grief, now it's strange for me_

_I could see your face, I could hear your voice_

[ _https://youtu.be/bOFhatyCEhQ_ ](https://youtu.be/bOFhatyCEhQ)

 

With the blizzard all around him, there was no way in knowing which way he was supposed to be going. He was surrounded completely by a blanket of white that rained down upon him, covering his own footsteps and the ruby red droplets of his blood that fell, bringing impurities to the once flawless snow. Rivaldir Lavellan was numb, his entire body, once wracked with pain, was now blinded to the cold, as far as he knew, he was just operating on instinct and the will to survive. He had to find those who survived Haven, what happened after that...well it was all in the hands of Mythal now.

In the distance he could hear the howl of a wolf...or was it nearby? With how the mountains were positioned, Riva wouldn’t have known if the wolf was behind him or in front of him...an entire pack could have surrounded him and the elf wouldn’t have any idea but he certainly knew that if they wanted to attack him, there was no way that he could defend himself. The ability to save his own life was long lost along with Haven. Riva was going to die out here…

Everything that had happened in the last few months...the conclave, the anchor, the Inquisition...all of it...it was almost like he’d been living in a very bad dream but by the Creators Riva had met some truly interesting people since the murder of Divine Justinia. They all stuck out in their own individual ways, but none so much as Dorian Pavus, a mage from Tevinter. His flashy robes and cocky, arrogant smirk, all that pomp and circumstance that should have driven the young hunter crazy did the exact opposite. He was intrigued but far too scared to make a move...his clan didn’t care that his preference lay with men...doubt had kept him from saying or doing anything...and now it was likely that he was too late.

Corypheus had thrown him around like how a child throws around a doll. When he’d first woken up, Riva was sure that his arm would be broken but the fact that he could use it meant it probably wasn't or it was just too cold to notice the pain. Underneath the armor, his body was covered in bruises. The elf wanted to go home to his clan and back to the boring life of being a hunter, it was time for someone else could be the hero.

Every so often, Riva would stumble upon an old campsite, the folders were long since gone along with the occupants and his mind wandered to trying to think about those who escaped and those who died. By the Creators there was so many people at Haven and more were coming by the day...everything that they’d worked so hard for was just gone with a single kick of a handle. Riva grimaced and leant against rock wall as a flash of pain tore through him. The deep wound in his side was still bleeding sluggishly but the warmth of his own blood was being sucked out through the cold. He wondered how much blood he actually had left or if he was wearing most of it. The anchor on his hand ached, how he hated the mark and now...now he knew...if this nightmare ever came to an end...the elves would surely cop the blame.

He was tired...so damn tired…

Riva forced himself off the wall and counted another twenty steps in the snow. Over and over again he counted to twenty before resetting and starting again, it was the only way the elf could make him walk through the cold now that he’d lost feeling in his feet. Whilst he hated wearing any kind of shoes under normal circumstances {it was often a common sight to see the Herald of Andraste gallivanting around the countryside without shoes on}, that night he had been and Riva couldn’t be more grateful to save his feet from frostbite.

He took a few more steps through the snow as he collapsed. The last of his energy was gone and Riva couldn’t even lift a finger to help himself, even with the glowing fires of the camp practically just within his reach. He could hear voices carrying on the wind, muffled, followed by the sound of yelling...someone caught him before he could fall face first into the freezing cold. “C-cold…” Riva managed to spit out through gritted teeth. He looked up at whoever was holding him and tried his best to focus as orders were shouted around him. It sounded like Cassandra and Cullen plus some people he didn't know. When someone started to lift him up, his head started spinning and the last thing he saw was black.

 

* * *

 

 

News spread, as news always does, that the Herald of Andraste was alive! They'd seen him fall at the hands of Corypheus and the archdemon to save their lives and now Andraste had seen fit to bring him back to continue the fight. How was this Dalish elf not touched by the gods? When Commander Cullen carried Riva into the camp, he looked like a child asleep in his father's arms, all small and unassuming. But before a crowd could gather, the former templar and the stone-faced Seeker vanished into the healers tent where they stayed well into the night.

By morning, the whole camp had been advised of the heralds condition; Rivaldir was alive. The extent of his injuries wasn’t exactly common knowledge but one didn’t survive an attack and an avalanche without coming away unscathed. None of them had never heard such wonderful news before, finally there was hope when previously they’d had none. He didn’t emerge from the tent that day or the day after, when the refugees and soldiers started asking about where they would go next, all Cassandra said was they would move when the Herald was well enough to move.

It was a topic of discussion that Dorian was having around the fire one evening with Varric and Iron Bull when he felt a hand on his shoulder. The mage turned to see what the problem was but froze when he saw Riva leaning on his shoulder for support wrapped in a blanket looking like a pitiful puppy and not a great warrior; he was pale and his normally rusty red hair was dull. Dorian could have sworn that even his ears were drooping if that was possible. “Kaffas, Rivaldir what are you doing up?” he demanded to know, standing to help the elf sit down on the log.

“The tent was getting too stuffy,” Riva answered, pulling the blanket tight around him. “And my guard dog fell asleep,” he smirked weakly, referring to Cullen who, like all of the inner circle, was burning the candle and both ends. “So I broke out.” He waited until Dorien sat back down and then let his head rest again the Tevinter’s shoulder.

Dorian arched an eyebrow at the sudden, and slightly intimate contact from the Herald. He had to tell himself that it obviously meant nothing, the fact that Riva was tired had to be a part of it. “Perhaps you should go back and lay down...put some shoes on at least.” He stared down at Riva’s feet and smile slightly. “I’ll help you back to your cot Rivaldir.”

“Don’t you dare Pavus,” Riva answered, staring into the flames that he got his name from. “I almost died...I think I deserve to lean on you and stare into the flames. It’s not like I’m going to lean on Varric or Bull, he’s too short, Bull’s too tall; you’re perfect for Rivaldir to lean on. A perfect Dorian sized person...” the elf trailed off, the potion he’d taken for the pain was working wonders. Both Varric and Iron Bull looked at each other with near identical smirks before taking the opportunity to leave Dorian to deal with the Herald.

“That would be the potions working like they should be,” Dorian suggested. He frowned when he realized that Riva wasn’t wearing a shirt, the only one he had was covered in blood and the healer’s must have thrown it away but were unable to procure him another. “Riva, would you like me to get you a shirt?” he asked.

Riva shook his head. “S’not the potion talking Dorian...I nearly died and all I could think about was you. Your flashy robes, that arrogant smile...your stupid, handsome face…” Why did the mage have a habit of making him feel like a giddy teenager who had no idea what he was doing? Well Riva _had_ no idea what he was doing but Dorian made him feel flustered, he had the moment he’d met him in Redcliffe and with each subsequent encounter. When Riva had insisted that the mage accompany them to the Fallow Mire, Dorian did nothing but complain about the mud and bugs in the bog, but he was the first one to jump into the dank waters and pull Riva out when he’d fallen in. It was some sight the two of them covered in mud.

“You think my face is handsome?” Dorian queried. He did enjoy flirting with the elf, even if half of it went over his head and the other half turned him into a flustered mess. His company was rather enjoyable, but the one thing that stopped him was the fact that he was the evil Tevinter mage that would be accused of bewitching the innocent Herald of Andraste. It was interesting to find out that the redhead felt the same.

“Stupid handsome,” Riva corrected him, his speech slightly slurred. “Dorian...do you like me?” he asked, his brow slightly furrowed like he was trying to study something hard.

“This is probably a topic of discussion we should have when you’re not about to fall asleep,” the mage suggested. He stood up and offered Riva his hand to escort him back to his tent. “Come on Rivaldir, let’s get you back to bed.”

Riva chewed at his lip and looked up at Dorian.”Can I stay with you?” he asked him. “It’s lonely in there and cold and I…” He swallowed and pulled at a strand off his blanket, “my tent is fine…” He took Dorian’s hand and pulled himself up with a groan, the wound in his side pulling. “I like you Dorian...I really like you…” he told him, his voice barely audible.

“Rivaldir what are you doing up? You need to be resting!” Cullen cut in, interrupting the two of them as they stood there staring at each other. He marched over, eyebrow raised at the situation developing between the Tevinter mage and the Dalish elf. “Is something the matter?”

“Oh for Mythal’s sake Cullen!” Riva grumbled. “He’s not trying to kill me or bewitch me! I _like_ him!” The elf’s ears blazed scarlet and spread to his face - colour on him actually looked better than deathly pale. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to die of embarrassment!” He clutched his blanket tighter around him and hurried off as fast as he was able with what little dignity he had left.

 

* * *

 

When the Herald of Andraste was well enough to move around without assistance, the survivors of Haven started to go in search of new land to occupy. Deep within the Frostback mountains they found the castle fortress of Skyhold, the stones practically vibrated with old elven magic but for now, it was to be home.

The journey had taken them a couple of weeks but to get themselves situated within the fortress almost looked like it was going to be an impossible task. From the moment they arrived, Riva was pulled from person to person, each with their own problems that they expected him to help fix. He’d only just survived a near death experience but there he was, soldiering on like nothing had happened. Rebuilding the Inquisition was the single most important thing on everyone’s mind.

When the position of Inquisitor was given to him, the Dalish elf took it with great strides and after that, hardly anyone saw him without his head in mountains of paperwork or going out on missions to gather support for their campaign. Underneath all that responsibility, Riva looked exhausted. Several times Dorian had noticed his food going untouched as he stressed over plans to battle against Corypheus. He wanted to help but Riva had been ignoring him the entire time they’d been at Skyhold, everytime the mage entered a room, a spluttering elf with a face as red as his hair would run in the other direction, making up some kind of excuses as he went.

The Tevintan mage decided that it was time to do something about it, which of course meant actually finding Riva. That part of the plan proved most difficult, no matter where he looked in the Inquisitor’s usual haunts, Dorian was unable to find him and neither was he rest of the inner circle. Cole happened to prove most useful in his ramblings as he passed him just outside the war room. Why was the garden not the first place he looked?

In the middle of a plot of dirt lay Riva as he dug his toes into the earth beneath him, his hair had escaped the leather tie that held it back, and whilst his clothes were all ruffled and stained with dirt, the elf looked stupidly happy as he stared up at the clouds chatting away to the black kitten that lay on his chest. It was the single most adorable sight that Dorian had ever seen. He wanted to leave Riva there with the kitten but he also knew that the elf needed to eat something and get more rest than simply laying in the garden talking to an animal. “Thinking of a lucrative career in veterinary medicine Rivaldir?”

“If this business with the inquisition doesn’t work out,” Riva chuckled, stroking the kitten’s fur. “I found her in the ramparts this morning, I’m thinking of calling her Assan.”

“Interesting name,” Dorian mused as he sat down on the edge of the garden, careful not to get dirt on his robes. “And prey tell, what does Assan mean?”

“It means arrow,” Riva responded. He sat up, not worrying about the dirt that stuck to him, in an effort to show Dorian the arrow shaped white mark on the kitten’s head. “Do you think Josephine will let me keep her?”

“Rivaldir, you’re the Inquisitor,” he scoffed, “I don’t think you need to ask for permission to have a pet. You could train her up to be a fun fluffy soldier, perhaps get her some armor? But save that for after you eat.” Dorian held out the plate of food he’d taken from the kitchen before the cooks could stop him. “You’re too thin as it is. Skipping meals again are we?”

“Thank you mother,” Riva muttered. He took the plate, brushing his fingers up against Dorian’s, making his face flush scarlet. “Dorian---I should apologise...I’ve been ignoring you.”

“That I figured as much,” the mage replied. “You adorably flee the room whenever I enter it, not that I don’t admire the view from behind either.” Dorian smirked as Riva’s ears turned red, it was the desired effect that he was after. “One would almost take it to mean that you still like me. Of course you do know what this would mean?”

“That the wicked Tevintan shemlan has bewitched the innocent Inquisitor?” Riva blushed

“Have you been reading Varric’s books again?” Dorian teased, relishing as the red burned brighter. He leant forward and tucked a strand of red hair behind Riva’s ear. “Are you innocent amatus?”

Rive nearly choked on the bit of apple he was chewing on. Yes he enjoyed the company of men but it didn’t mean that he’d ever actually had the company of a man before. Nothing had ever gone past kissing and the occasional rut against another person. But with Dorian, Riva could certainly say that he wanted more. Before the elf could answer, the mage moved closer and lightly pressed his lips against Riva’s. The mage could smell fresh mint, the smell of the trees around him and something sweet that he couldn’t place. The other male’s lips were soft, like velvet, and warm, just like everything that Rivaldir Lavellan was.

For such an innocent kiss, Riva couldn’t help but feel a hum of something shoot through his body, starting at his lips and traveling all over the place. He whimpered at the loss of contact when Dorian pulled away. “Vhenan…”

“Yes amatus?” Dorian tilted his head and watched him, it was almost like he was watching a mouse lost in the outside world. Riva was too adorable when he was flustered but even more so when he couldn’t find the words to speak. “What does vhenan mean?”

If it was possible for Riva to turn an even deeper shade of red, the elf did as he looked away from the mage sitting in front of him. “N-nothing.” He peeked through his hair at Dorian then looked away, watching Assan play in the weeds. “If it means anything...I don’t think you’re wicked...you’re perfect.” Riva looked back up at him, smiling shyly at the grin on Dorian’s face. “A perfect Dorian sized person.”

Dorian heard the words flow from Riva’s mouth, he couldn’t help it when he started to laugh. It was a laugh that soon proved to be infectious enough to make the Inquisitor join in. That was when it occurred to Dorian, he’d never before heard the elf laugh but right there and then he’d decided that it was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard before. Dorian just knew that he wanted to hear that sound at least once a day.


End file.
